The Arbitrator's Crumbling Obelisk: Glacies and Ajoris
The Clouded Yearner “Where might we find them?” “The reckoning draws near.” “In both life and death, I shall serve you alone, my lord.” “There may be an ambush. Should we not summon your brother, Lord Glacies?” A small party of cloaked individuals stood upon the height of a cliff in an expansive desert land. Their master, the so-called Lord Glacies, lowered the hood of his elaborate robe while jeering at the mention of the man he called brother. “I require only my own blade; my blade and faith alike,” came his resolute response. Lord Glacies, in his prominent but youthful glory, led an enlightened group of humans gifted with the power of a god, a position he shared with his sworn elder brother and a woman outside his family. To his brother, he was irreplaceable as both a man and a consort; in the eyes of many followers, however, Glacies was but an inconsequential ornament forever lingering in the shadow of the cult. Glacies dared not speak of resultant disdain to any but his most trusted retainers, but the founder sought to prove his worth as an individual beyond all else. Glacies turned to his loyal followers, a genuine simper on the crispness of his face. “Ne'er fear, my venerated subjects, for as you would willingly die in the name of my honor, so too would I die for all you hold dear as individuals… for we are all equal parts of aught greater, naught less.” “Lord Glacies!” came a frantic shout from behind Glacies' subjects. One by one, the subjects stepped aside so that nothing stood between Glacies and the newly-arrived entity that caught their attention. “Lord Glacies, our master formally requests your audience,” calmly spoke the visitor, a tall and hardy cloaked man kowtowing before Glacies. The addition on golden embroidery along the sleeves and bottom of his distinguished him as a familiar of another faction, or at the very least a missionary of Glacies' own occult organization he held no prior knowledge of. Nevertheless, at the man's unprecedented appearance, the founder suspiciously raised an eyebrow. “Name yourself,” Glacies demanded. An ominous grin spread upon the man's concealed face almost before the founder finished his sentence; the air grew tense with the sound of his muffled titters. “Why entertain the ignorance of a dead man?” But Glacies paid no respect to the man's provocation, raising his hand to calm his followers as they collectively drew their weapons in retaliation. “Very well, then. I would speak with this man you call master… but I shall not go alone.” The man took a moment to clear his throat before standing up straight. “We expect nothing less. Come.” After the man proceeded to unassumingly draw closer before leaping down into the vastness of the desert, Glacies remained atop the cliff, eying the man's every move. The founder could sense something amiss with his soul, as though he held an unfamiliar power of some sort. That alone was enough to convince the founder to pursue him, for if nothing else, he was witnessing the movements of a rival cult emerging from the shadows—one with the power of a new god. “Give chase ere he loses us,” Glacies ordered of his followers, being the first to descend from the cliff. The Jaded Outcast As he tread upon the sands with the mysterious man centered in front of him, guiding him to a destination he could only imagine, Glacies concerned himself with his followers' cautioning words. “Are we not being lead to a trap?” one follower asked. “Perhaps,” Glacies murmured. “I sense a power in that man which errs from our own,” another follower noted. “A Shinigami? Nay, another spirit of sorts?” “As do I,” Glacies added. “But let us speculate another time.” “May I advise we shortly return to Diluculum Sanctus once our work here is done?” another follower suggested. “Rumors speak of your brother's sudden absence.” Glacies narrowed his eyes. “My brother has departed, has he? For what purpose?” “Whether he has merely departed or been felled by these conspirators, I do not know,” the follower replied. “If truthfully he is gone, we will all need your guidance now more than ever.” In Glacies' own eyes, his brother's absence would be of little consequence, for he was not so much of a leader as he was a public figure despite his great power. It was thanks to Glacies' own advice that the cult's influence proliferated as it did, and yet he would never be rightfully accredited for such success. His brother's whereabouts would nevertheless concern him once he himself returned to Diluculum Sanctus, if only somewhat. Eventually, Glacies reached the desert's barren epicenter, spotting a gathering of a couple dozen or so individuals donning identical robes in wait. Once the leading man joined them, Glacies took a moment to compare their numbers to his own. “Is their leader among them?” whispered one of Glacies' followers. “I had not expected this!” Glacies shouted at the gathering. “'Tis your wish to engage me with such meager numbers? And with not even a leader to show!?” Glacies furrowed his eyebrows at the sensation of the wicked energy permeating from each and every one of them. “Who are you? What ARE you savages!?” “Bark as you will, you foolish cur; we will HAVE your head!” insulted one of the individuals. Glacies drew the sword around his hip. “You wish to be first?” “Pitiable puppet, left ignorant of his doom,” another individual spat. “You stole those words from me,” Glacies growled, directing his sword to the other individual. “I will sever your limbs and leave you to witness the slaughter of your precious followers,” yet another individual threatened with a low tone. “You dare underestimate the subjects of Lord Glacies!?” one of Glacies’ followers shouted. “You lot are the ones who know not of whom you face!” “The spiritual presence of my blade alone dwarfs that of yours!” “Another ignorant peasant ripe for the slaughter!” “Come, then; fight us!” “Can your trembling legs not take the first step?” “Know your places, you tittering swines.” “I see, so you intend to have us laugh to our deaths!” “You need only command me to do away with these zealots, Lord Glacies.” “Your lord is no match for the Grand Adjudicator!” At the mention of a ‘Grand Adjudicator’, Glacies looked away during a crucial moment, contemplating a person for whom such a title would be endowed. When he returned his sights to the traitorous rogues before him, one such individual had charged a distance from the others, drawing close to one of Glacies’ followers with a blade raised above his head. Glacies narrowed his eyes as they deftly followed the zealot’s every move, a frigid aura emanating from their irises. Then, the founder struck. With but a subtle stroke of his blade against the air, the zealot was cleaved cleanly in half, his remains glaciating to the depth of his bones and collapsing as dust shortly thereafter. With his sword bathed in a radiating frost, Glacies slowly angled his head until his murderous glare met his opposing crowd, and shrills of fear applauded his display. “So,” Glacies muttered, his eyes carefully exploring the breadth of the perfidious audience, and all the pitiable cowardice he had exposed of them, “who else would meet his end by the tip of my blade?” “Enough,” one woman commanded from within the traitorous gathering. Glacies promptly obeyed the woman’s request and sheathed his sword, knowing well he had made a proper example of one of theirs. “Reveal yourself.” Bowing their heads before the woman’s command, the gathering parted to opposite ends, facing the only one of them who yet stood in the middle—a regally-dressed woman with a marred sword held in hand. “Ajoris…?” Glacies whispered to himself, unsure of the woman’s identity from the distance she stood. The woman began a graceful waltz amidst her gawking subjects, her expression as indistinct as that of a doll. As her gaze diverged upon the spot Glacies had so callously slain one of her own, her countenance was blemished with a slight twitch of one of her silvery eyes. Parting her rosy tresses of hair to the side of her face with a stroke of her fingers, the woman lifted her head and continued onward until she stood alone before Glacies and his followers. “Damn you, Ajoris!” Glacies shouted, drawing his blade as though he had not agreed to sheath it a moment before. The woman, Ajoris, responded by lifting her sword in front of her face, her eyes trailing down its blade as if scrutinizing its every dent and notch, before plunging it into the ground, solemnly placing both hands upon its pommel. Glacies managed give a fleeting smirk in Ajoris’ direction, her presence confirming what he had known since long ago. “I knew it,” he muttered. “Our very covenant was home to you deviants since the beginning.” The world around the founder appeared to fall into silence as Glacies laid eyes upon the apostate, the doing of an inexplicable ambiance of murderous intent that could not have merely come from Ajoris’ expression alone, as unassuming as it was. “Are you not one of us?” Glacies asked, recalling that Ajoris’ powers never quite resembled theirs. “Your followers—what are—” Glacies was quieted by the clapping of Ajoris’ hands, as her sword was left buried in the ground beneath her feet. “There is no merit in answering a ruler whose intent is to no longer leave me be.” Glacies pointed his sword at Ajoris. “You will answer me or else wish you were dead.” Ajoris’ eyes began to shift in several directions, Glacies’ threat having apparently fallen on deaf ears. “Are you alone?” “No,” Glacies answered with a moment of hesitation. Ajoris’ hands returned to the grip of her blade. “Oh, I know you have come alone; do not try to deny it. I wonder why. Has Axenus departed to further spread your religion? Did Prisca cower at the mere mention of my name as she always has?” Ajoris stepped forward until she stood directly behind her sword. “Neither of us can turn back now, regardless. I will not answer your questions, and, clearly enough, you will not answer mine. So, my proposal to you is a formal duel, the victor of which shall spoil the loser’s candor... along with whatever else they would lay claim to.” Ajoris pulled her sword from the ground, carving the sands with the tip of its blade before gripping it plainly in her left hand. “In my pithiest of words, Glacies, I challenge you. Should you triumph against me, I will answer your every question and you may do with me as you please. Should I conquer you, I will answer one question of your choosing. Then, I will sever your head and parade it before your subjects and every other fanatic of Diluculum Sanctus as my declaration of war. Is the reward worth the risk? The choice is yours.” Glacies grit his teeth “You would dare provoke war with such meager power?” “A ruler such as you should know this well: things are seldom as they appear in this world of the occult you and I both occupy. It is quite a wonder that you have lived this long to have cast such judgments from sight alone. Such errors in judgment are often of little consequence... but this one in particular often comes at a price most of us would never pay readily.” “Enough talk! I accept your challenge. You will in pay in blood for your arrogance, cur.” “I am relieved to hear that. First, there is a small matter of fair play which I had yet to address.” Before Glacies could question her words, Ajoris glanced in the direction of one of his followers, the same one he had saved a moment prior. But by the time Glacies noticed where her attention lay, he was already too late. Where his follower once stood, nothing remained but a stain in the sand, a fetid puddle of ravaged bone and viscera. He had died, killed by a silent influence, without so much as a cry of anguish. “A life for a life; we can call it even now,” Ajoris spoke as Glacies’ followers began to cower much like her own. “Stlatarius was a man of fortitude and loyalty; he could not have been more undeserving of your humiliation. For his death, Glacies, your own death will be no less demeaning. Your successors will joyously recite tales of your demise, and their audience will ever applaud with the heartiest of laughter.” The Ruler in Shambles